Black and White: Broken Trinity
by Yellow Wedge
Summary: For nearly 2000 years, Eden has remained godless; its tribes at an uneasy peace. Then the arrival of a monstrous deity tips the balance as he corrupts the American tribe and turns them on the British. It's up to the god Lucian to save Eden one final time.
1. Betrayal

The world had changed since he had last been there. He swooped across oceans, diving towards a single island. It wasn't hard to spot; a great column of smoke tumbled skywards, so dense and black that it looked like a great, roiling storm cloud was being emitted directly from the city below. This was an all-too-familiar scene to him, and his mind flicked back thousands of years;

_Japanese lands pillaged and burned by rotting corpses, animated by an abominable forbidden miracle, swinging swords and axes into the soft bodies of their victims._

_A Greek capital overrun by whooping, jeering Aztecs, men, women and children put to the sword or dragged away by the hair and chained together in herds._

_A peaceful Celtic village pelted with fireballs and blasts of lightning, and buffeted by an unnatural storm._

He closed his eyes, tried to count the people he had been unable to save over the years, but could not. The figure was too high. Some gods thrived on warfare, whilst some saw it as a monstrosity which was to be avoided, but **Lucian** preferred not to be tied down with such commitments. War was unavoidable and to deny it was naïve: the very nature of humans and gods was to fight. Envy and Wrath went hand in hand on Eden, and every time he left the various tribes he commanded in a state of fragile stability, they would eventually collapse into fighting one way or another.

That said, of course, war was something which could be controlled, shaped and moulded into the results one wanted. War was _not _what he now saw below him: the cobblestone streets of the once-mighty capital were littered with corpses in the same, casual manner one might expect to see with litter. This was a massacre.

He swooped down towards the source of the prayer, a Cathedral of some majesty: situated atop a hill which overlooked the shattered cityscape. This building, at least, was intact. Behind it, a vast river flowed, spanned by twin bridges and on the far side, the small slice of the city which rested there was also mercifully untouched by the ravages of war. Closer he flew, and details began to filter through to his sleep-fogged mind: the roads leading to the Cathedral were blocked by burning debree and hastily-constructed barricades, and before its vast front doors stood a platoon of exhausted-looking troops in red coats and white trousers held their foes at bay with stuttering volleys of bullets. Muskets in hand, they were so intent on felling their tan-clothed rivals they did not even notice the meteorite of pale blue light skim overhead and phase through the upper windows of the building they defended.

Within, a woman knelt alone, before a great statue. She was unflinching at the clatter of shots outside. Her lips moved, emitting no sound as her energy was all but spent. However, her poise was strong, noble. She finished her prayer and her head bowed in sorrow. Her prayer was unanswered.

"My good lady" a voice echoed about the cavernous room "why must you despair so?"

She whirled; hood falling back to reveal hair grey as storm clouds and threaded about an elegant crown. Her cloak fell back to reveal an extravagant dress which could only belong to royalty. Her face, crumpled and paled by age, lit up and watery blue eyes widened.

"Y-you…" she whispered in awe "You are the god, Lucian!"

Before the elderly woman stood a man of indeterminate age. He was extremely tall, however; almost nine feet, and was clad in a simple brown robe, fastened by a belt which also held a ring of shimmering keys. His hair was short and his face was thin-cheeked and tired. Pale-blue eyes regarded her sadly.

"With whom, might I ask, do I converse?" His voice was loud and echoing: a cold bark which reverberated around the room, giving the impression that many voices spoke the words. The old woman bowed her head in respect.

"I am Queen Victoria." she told him "I have summoned you here in my darkest hour."

To her surprise, the god tilted his head back and laughed: a single peal of an almost musical nature. He then strode over to a vast granite pillar and ran his hand down the rough surface. It occurred to the queen that he had not walked upon this world for thousands of years, and simple sensations like touch, smell and sight would be almost overwhelming to him.

"Oh yes, ma'am. It's always in 'their darkest hour'." he chuckled "the changes I make to your society will be all but forgotten in a hundred years' time and your descendant will soon be sobbing his heart out, praying for someone like myself to help them out."

He turned back to her, his face serious.

"Why have you called me here? Specifically me? For two thousand years your tribe, or its predecessors, have coped with their human affairs without me. What could possibly have changed?"

She met his gaze now, confident she had made the right choice.

"The Americans were our allies: we two tribes fought alongside one-another many times: American and British together. I knew their President personally; a good man who knew how to make war and more importantly, how to make peace. But yesterday evening, American soldiers entered our land through a portal and attacked us. It was an unprovoked act of war, and they have a seemingly unlimited number of troops."

Lucian was decidedly unimpressed, leaning against the pillar and staring at the Queen coldly.

"…and they have a God."

Lucian froze.

"You are sure of this?" he asked.

"They pray to him. According to our colonies in other lands with the Americans, they have been constructing Temples and Shrines."

To her surprise, the formerly calm god sprung forward and seized her by the shoulders. His grip was strong, painful even, but she felt the strength behind his hands was even greater than what he exerted now; leaving red wields across her.

"What is his name? What do they call him?" he hissed.

"The Embodiment of Darkness." She whispered, her voice cracking with weariness "Nemesis."

"Nemesis."

Lucian's jaw opened and closed, and he released her, staggering back in horror.

"No." He stammered "Pray tell me he has not returned."

"You know this god?" she asked, taken aback at the terror she registered in his face.

"Know him? Oh yes I do. I know him too well."

"Oh what fool summoned that…fiend?" he whispered.

"My lord." the queen muttered "I am tired, my people are being massacred and my armies are all but spent. I ask unto you, what do we do?"

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, before exhaling a long rasping breath.

"We flee. We abandon this place and we never, ever return."

The Queen stood to her full height (not an impressive 5 ½ feet when the god was almost 9) and glared at the heavenly being.

"We British will _never _abandon our capital! We will defend it to the last! I summoned you here to defend us! To beat off this invasion!"

"Then you shall die, and your tribe will slide forgotten into history."

Lucian turned away.

"You now have a choice, Queen. You surrender the control of your tribe to me, and allow me to lead you to salvation, or you fight your lost cause and watch your beloved people enslaved by these Americans."

There was a short silence, and then she spoke from behind him. She was very quiet at first, but her words were still audible.

"Save us. Please."

Lucian smiled, faintly, then turned back to her.

"Lead your people back across the bridges; to the areas untouched by this slaughter. Your remaining soldiers shall defend the crossing."

"But they will surely die!"

"Madam, if you know war as I do, then you will know that the very purpose of these men is to sacrifice themselves for the good of your people. They were always going to die, only now their deaths shall mean something."

Lucian turned back to her and she nodded to him.

"I shall do as you ask, my lord."

He took off without another word, soaring through the ceiling in his symbol-form, until he surveyed the entire city. He spotted a group of British soldiers, beset on two sides by Americans, who swarmed towards them with bayonets fixed. Without hesitation, he swooped down and changed to his human form in mid-dive: crashing amongst the charging soldiers and crushing two into pulp. His right hand pulled the bunch of keys free from his belt and, as it came away, their form blurred and distorted until he held not keys, but a sword of ivory and steel. As the men turned about, attempting to combat this new threat, he swept the blade in a long, bloody arc: killing six with a single blow. A bayonet plunged at him from one side, but he grasped it and tore the weapon from the hands of its wielder: thrusting once with his sword and then swinging the blade right again, killing three more American troops. The remaining five attempted to rush him; a hollow battle-cry escaping their trembling lips. He knocked aside their weapons and danced amongst them, slashing left and right until the last man fell to his knees before the god.

"What…are…you?" the brown-coated soldier rasped, clutching his bloodied stomach.

"I'm not sure any more." Lucian sighed. He struck down with the hilt of his weapon, smashing the angular face into pulp and knocking the corpse backwards. He then turned back to the remaining British soldiers, who gazed at him in wonder from beyond the barricade. In his mind's eye, he felt their little human minds like thin flags, flapping in the breeze. He found that of their leader; a burly brute in sergeants stripes, and plucked it, dropping it by the bridges behind the Cathedral. The squad drew back and began to march towards the designated point; not knowing why they headed that way, save on the whim of their officer. Lucian smiled and wiped the blood from his blade, sheathing it into his belt, where it became a bunch of keys once more.

He was about to take off again, when he felt the tug of a small, fragile life nearby; pain and fear stinging at the soul. He turned and to his dismay, spotted a small pink hand protruding from beneath a fallen brick wall. With a flick of his hand, the stones tumbled from the civilian, and Lucian observed that it was a child: a small boy with freckles and long brown hair. The child regarded him with eyes of green, trembling in fear, and wincing from his wounds.

"There there, child, I shall get you to safety." Lucian's tone became gentle and he knelt beside the boy, to lift him.

"W-why…?"

"You shall surely perish if I leave you here, and we can't have that."

"No… why did they attack? The Americans? Why do they hate us so?"

Lucian was silent for a moment, but before he could reply, the child exhaled in a slight rasp of air, and was still. The god knelt by the dead kid for a moment, and realised that this one little death had affected him more than any death had for a long time. Eventually he stood, and turned his back on the body, whispering a faint:

"Rest easy, child."

Airborne again, he gazed down on the vast city. He could feel those spirit-flags which were human minds; soldiers approaching in huge numbers. The Americans marched on the fleeing British; determined to exterminate them. Lucian felt the nauseating tang of hatred emanating from the enemy forces. Not just normal hatred which a god may observe soldiers feeling in war, but true disgust at the very existence of the British. It was in this monstrous perversion of human emotion that he felt the presence of Nemesis for the first time since his arrival.

He swooped again, landing on the British-held segment of the city, and it was there that he found the Queen, wavering where she stood. Beside her, a pair of soldiers levelled their muskets at him as he landed, but she dismissed them with a gesture.

"How do we escape this land, lord?" the elderly commander asked "you have but backed us into a corner."

Lucian smiled again, genuinely this time.

"This land was not left undefended by supernatural powers, Queen. The last time I was here, at the height of my power, I placed a curse on the Cathedral (it was a temple back then). When any hostile force approaches it, an ancient self-defence mechanism will activate."

The old queen nodded her thanks, then turned back to the riverside view of the rest of her capital: crumbling before the massive horde which swept through it.

They reached the Cathedral, some soldiers bursting inside to search it and finding nothing, whilst the rest assembled on either side: preparing to cross the bridge. Sweating and terrified, the remaining redcoats of the British took up positions; preparing to sacrifice themselves for the huddle of thirty civilians and their queen, who cowered behind them.

Then it happened.

There came a great creaking sound; like the hull of a ship in a storm, and the Cathedral exploded. It didn't collapse or crumble, it literally exploded in a burst of flame and shower of masonry which showered the invaders and scattered them. At exactly the same time, the Bridges simply sank into the river, swept away by the suddenly swelling floodwater which was running through it.

Behind them, an orb of blindingly white light dropped from the sky like a pebble into a pond. Where it touched the cobblestone streets, it swelled and began to whirl about until it was a vortex ten metres wide. The light faded until it was just bearable to look at directly, and the air was filled with the moan of a hurricane-like wind.

"Inside! Get everyone inside!" Lucian hollered at the Queen. She shook her head and turned to him, eyes brimming with tears.

"I grew up in this land, and it was my responsibility to protect these people." She declared, cloak whipping about her frail, elderly form.

"You can't stay here, you'll die!" Lucian exclaimed. His eye fell upon the far bridge, or what was left of it. He cursed as he realised that it had not completely been destroyed. A thin segment still spanned the river; wide enough for two men to walk abreast, and even as he watched, the browncoats began to hurry across it; muskets dangling from their straps as they struggled to balance.

"I know that, my lord. Please, my final request is that you lead my tribe to glory, and that you allow me to die here: so that they may forget my failings."

Lucian was silent, but he knew that he must honour her request. He nodded, then turned to the crowd of tearful civilians.

"Go! Into the light! You shall be safe there!"

As he set off after the townsfolk, he heard the Queen shout, her voice crisp and clear over the howling wind and clatter of musketry.

"Redcoats! To me! Show them that the British die well!"

A faint shout went up, a half-hearted cheer as the handful of remaining soldiers prepared to meet their end, but then it was gone as he stepped into the portal. Suddenly he was falling…

…down, down, down…

…the tunnel he fell through became pitch-black, then suddenly a new light was rushing to meet him, and he felt a breeze on his skin.

His first challenges awaited him beyond the gate.


	2. Wind that Shakes the Barley

"**D'ya think he's dead?"**

"Of course he isn't. Don't be ridiculous!"

"**He's not moving. Maybe we were too late!"**

"Oh my. He's waking up!"

"**See? What'd I tell ya? Course he'll be fine!"**

Lucian's eyelids fluttered. Before him, two figures peered into his face. One was a slight, bearded man seated on a fluffy little rain cloud and clad in robes. His blue eyes were gentle and comforting. The other was a scaled, devil-like creature with small wings which just about supported his corpulent frame's current altitude. He regarded his conscious leader with an expression of relief: tusked mouth just about managing a sincere smile.

"**Glad to see you're alright, boss." **the evil creature drawled.

"I must agree; it is most encouraging to see you awake!" concurred the little man.

Lucian groaned and rubbed his eyes, sitting up and observing the forest in which he now lay; half-hidden by long, wild grass and the close-growing trunks of the trees.

"…and where might the two of you been hiding back in the British Capital?" he groaned. Portal-travel seemed to be taking more of a toll on him than it should do, by rights.

"**Well boss, we would've loved to have helped, an all, but we were a little…slow…"**

The evil conscience faltered; seemingly through both struggling with his words, and an unwillingness to say what needed to be said. The little pearly man hovered beside him and patted him on the back; a gesture which might normally have provoked a violent outburst, but now caused nothing more than a sarcastic rolling of the eyes.

"What he's trying to say is that we're getting on a little." Ivory sighed "Even by the standards of divine beings; our age and the number of summons we have survived has left us somewhat…drained?"

"I don't…feel old." Lucian frowned, lifting a hand and examining his smooth, tapered fingers. There were no wrinkles here.

"I don't think the elderly ever really feel 'old', Leader. We simply feel the cold a little more, as it were."

"**Oh man… we're weak… I feel so useless." **Ebony grunted, scratching his ass with one clawed hand. Ivory rolled his eyes.

"We can still do out godly work as well as before. If anything, age will have honed our skills! Let's get settled here in this land before we worry about what the future holds."

"**Sure; let's do that. I bet there are some helpless villages to be plundered!"**

The two little figures vanished from Lucian's vision in a puff of white cloud and a sulphuric red fog respectively. Lucian knelt, and then leapt high into the sky, gazing down upon the land on which they had arrived. It was a serene, green place: with a wide, rounded centre and two 'tips' which were comprised of small mountains, with paths leading down to the main body of the land. They stood upon the northern peak of the land; which was covered by a small mane of forest, and on the far southern peak was a small, walled village. In between these two points, the island was dotted with tiny hamlets, and the odd village of reasonable enough size to warrant capturing. All of these were settled on or in the valleys between the rolling hills which comprised the island, and many (including the tiny hamlets) were ringed by barley and corn fields as though a great hand had circled them on a map.

"**Ooohh Boy! Look at all these plump little towns to plunder and ransack!"**

"Now, now! Don't be so vulgar! We could simply tempt them to join our cause by constructing a city worthy of their attentions!"

"**Shut it beardy! We're gonna be recruiting armies, and reduce these heathen settlements to rubble!" **Ebony rubbed his mottled chin **"Whilst taking a moderate fee from their storehouses!"**

"That would be simply monstrous! This looks like the Irish tribe! They are a peaceful race!"

"Both of you are already giving me a headache. Let me get a good picture of this place first."

"Leader, these villagers appear to have a Tribal Commander. Let's listen in on his thoughts!"

Lucian closed his eyes and focused his attentions on the land below him. He felt the fragile lives of every single little person on the island; their hopes, desires, and then he found the one he was looking for:

The man was a young fellow in his mid twenties. His brown hair was long, and tied back into a ponytail, and he wore the simple outfit of a farmer's assistant. Over the top of it, he had fastened a belt with a brace of pistols and a stolen sabre, and his young, kindly face was split by a jagged scar which caused one eye to droop slightly as it passed over it. The scarred man stood at the very edge of the cliff by the walled village on the far side of the island, surveying the lands below him. Behind him, numerous villagers, both armed and not, had gathered to hear him speak. Finally, he did so:

"Brothers." he began, his light, intelligent voice loud and clear on the morning air "The British have left; abandoned us to defend their homeland from the American invaders."

An approving mutter behind him. The crowd were pleased.

"Thus, we are left alone here. Below us; their villages and towns are corrupted and curtailed by their soldiers no longer. We are free, and we must lead those lost souls with our torch of liberty!"

"But sir" a green-jacketed soldier remarked "our numbers are few. How do we capture and garrison them?"

"We do not, brother! Your soldiers' brave efforts to resist the British during their occupation of our homeland will not be forgotten, but now we must put aside the ways of war. We cannot win the hearts and minds of our kin with the sword or musket."

"Then what do you propose?" the soldier folded his arms, frowning.

"We focus on construction and rebuilding this shattered town; until it is a great city! Then they shall flock to us in the dozens!" He gestured to the walls behind him, and this close, it was possible to see the poor condition of the defences; their crumbling, moss-encrusted faces, and the buildings behind them, which were in a similar condition.

"I say" remarked Ivory, approvingly "This fellow has my respect; a man of peace indeed!"

"**Bah, goody-goody. It'll just be all the easier to put 'em to the sword!"**

They were interrupted by the sudden arrival of an out-of-breath boy of around twelve, who paused at the edge of the group to catch his breath, before blurting out his message:

"Sir!" he puffed "British, on the island sir!"

The scarred commander turned to face the child, eyebrows raised.

"You are sure it's them?"

"Yes sir! It's them alright!"

"They come to reclaim the land we are just about to take back, ourselves?" he muttered, massaging his scar. "Or perhaps…" he then looked straight up at Lucian. "Perhaps they flee from something terrible."

Lucian was invisible to him, of course: he was in symbol form, but he couldn't help but feel the man's eyes bore into his very being. He shivered; feeling a small chill running through his form: being this far outside of his territory was enfeebling him further than he already had been because of his age.

"I shall take a raiding party against them!" The soldier again, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The leader shook his head.

"They are mere refugees! I am certain they would have brought troops, if they intended to capture this land again. We shall construct buildings with which to tempt them into our care."

"You would provide sanctuary for these…murdering bastards!" The soldier stepped forwards, his voice raised. In a blur of green, the leader had turned and was levelling a pistol at the man's head.

"Remember this, Cornwell. We are only here because of my leadership. Do not question my judgement, and I shall lead you to victory. Is it really worth grinding down our numbers even further, just for the sake of some petty quest of revenge?"

"You would protect these people?" the soldier was incredulous, despite the weapon levelled at his face. The leader shrugged.

"The Americans turn on their allies; a tribe as mighty as the British, then they are bound to come for us eventually. Perhaps we can impress them enough to offer an alliance with us."

The greencoat was silent for a moment, and the pistol was lowered from his forehead.

"The way of peace is upon us, brothers. Rejoice and begin repairs on the village. We will transform it into a mighty city!"

"Come leader, let us return to our lands and begin constructing a town."

"**Grrr… I say we just throw down a couple houses, fields, a storehouse, then we get started on the Barracks!"**

"We shall see. For now, hush please."

They left the Irish townsfolk to their renovation efforts and swooped back to where their own British villagers had constructed a Town Center: a small square building, constructed from wood and bricks, which contained various records pertaining to the town it represented. Around it was a road; which otherwise simply went to highlight how empty the would-be town really was. Flapping in the wind above the town centre was a flag, upon which was daubed a crude representation of a house.

"I trust you remember all about desire flags, leader?" Ivory asked, gesturing at it "The image on the flag corresponds to what the villagers most desire. Of course, you could find that out by listening in on their conversations, but it provides an easy overview of the village-"

"**Yeah, yeah, the boss knows all about that." **Ebony yawned, flapping his hands at his opposite as though shooing him away **"What he does need to know is what's changed around here. Technology and weapons! Tell 'em beardy!"**

With a resigned sigh, the good conscience provided a brief overview:

"We are in the middle of a big clash between old and new, leader." he said "while soldiers can still carry swords, bows and spears (which some do) they now rely on 'guns'. Musketry and Cannons have changed the way these people fight."

"**Yeah boss: cannons can really wreck stuff: you gotta' make sure all your important buildings are well-protected, else they're gonna get smashed to bits!"**

"I see. Well thank you, guys, but for now I think we can content ourselves with the knowledge that this Tribal Commander is not an aggressive one. Let's build our town and allow these people to rest: they have been through an awful lot today."

The huddle of people now rested inside, or around, the town centre. Some were crying, or had been, whilst others were numb with shock. It was a sorry sight, to say the least.

"Do you recall your 'God-Building' ability, leader?" Ivory asked "We could help these poor people out a little."

"**Nah, they gotta learn to be tough! I say we make an example of a couple of the sorry beggars: they'll shape up, sharpish, after that!"**

Lucian mentally drew together the plans for the simple house, and then placed the guidelines in a semicircle behind the Town centre, before tracing a rough path which would later become a road; reaching all five of the buildings. Then he tore up trees and boulders; crushing them with his mind and mentally piecing together the components above the foundations, before pulling the finished products together with a grunt of exertion. Five comfortable houses, made from stone and wood, sat ready for their occupants. The villagers slowly made their way towards the houses, gazing at them in wonder; as though they were the finest Amphitheatres in ancient Greece, then entered them without hesitation, for this was surely a gift from the gods. In symbol form, hanging in the air above them, Lucian smiled as he felt some strength return to him: their belief was improving his own condition.

Things were looking up.


End file.
